Legacy of Fire
by JackRyan64
Summary: In a single night, Grand Marshall Conrad Cain, commander of the military of the Empire of Man, deposed the Emperor and declared martial law throughout the Empire. Now, left to pick up the pieces, the Grand Marshall must fight enemies from both beyond the Empire's borders and within while simultaneously investigating a threat that could destroy the galaxy.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings! The following is a retelling and dramatization of one of my campaigns. Obviously Stellaris is a fairly open-ended game as far as empire lore is concerned, but I'll draw from events from my own game as well as some crisis events/technology ect to keep things Stellaris-ey.**

 **I hope you enjoy. Thanks!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

 **Marcus Verser**

Rain pattered against the shuttle's window as it came in for landing outside the Imperial Citadel. It was a grand palace dedicated to the long line of emperors and empresses which had guided Empire of Man since its inception. It was a single tall, black, spire that stood almost three times taller than any other building across Terra's surface. It was flanked by four smaller towers interlinked by a surrounding wall, effectively circling the central spire with an impenetrable wall of interlinking laser cannons, flak cannons, and missile batteries. If there was one place in the galaxy that was completely and utterly safe, it was the Imperial Citadel.

Marcus blinked as lightning streaked across the night sky. He rubbed at his tired eyes, regretting his decision to forego sleep the night before, he'd gone close to twenty six hours without sleep and was starting to succumb to the fatigue. He reached into his coat's inner breast pocket and withdrew a small silver container the size of a cigarette case. He opened it and withdrew one of the six small syringes from within, two of which were already empty. He held it up to the light, momentarily admiring the green liquid inside, before rolling up his sleeve and sticking the needle in his arm. He winced at the brief second of pain, then exhaled sharply as a wave of energy washed over him making his fingertips prickle as they tingled with electricity.

The cockpit door slid open and the pilot called over his shoulder, "We're coming in for a landing. Be ready to disembark!"

"Where exactly am I to go from there?" Marcus shouted back. He hadn't been told anything about the reason for his sudden summons to the palace. All he knew was someone high in the government wanted to speak to him, which was a curious event in and of itself considering his recent events, and that whatever it was couldn't wait until morning.

The pilot called back, "Just follow the bodies!"

"The what?" Marcus called back, not sure he'd heard the pilot correctly. The pilot didn't reply and just closed the cockpit door, leaving Marcus in a brief state of doubt. He pushed those doubts to the back of his mind, though, when the shuttle jerked as it touched down on the spire's upper landing pad, momentarily bouncing off the surface before settling back down on the pad. The door slid open and, after waiting a moment for a guard which never came, Marcus unbuckled and stepped outside into the rain.

The wind howled and Marcus pulled his long coat closer to his body to keep it from from flapping behind him. The rain continued to poor, coming down almost horizontally, buffeting his face and matting his short brown hair to his head. He squinted and held his hand to the side of his cheek to try and hold back the torrent, jogging to the open door to the spire fifteen feet away. His jog slowed and eventually came to a stop just two feet away from the open door as his eyes locked on the body slumped against the wall on the other side of the doorway. He could only see a leg poking out from the other side of the door, though a pool of blood had formed and begun to leak out onto the landing pad to be subsequently washed away by the rain. He reached into his pocket, his fingers grasping at the grip of the snub-nosed pistol he always had on hand. He crept forward, anticipation building in his stomach as he drew closer to the body, then rushed forward into the hall, pistol drawn and ready. To his utter relief nobody was there to greet him.

He sighed, letting go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, as he let the momentary relief wash over him. Unfortunately when he turned to inspect the body that fear an anxiety came back and caught his breath in his throat. Slumped against the wall, pooling in blood, was a soldier garbed head to toe in ornate black armor, with the symbol of a golden six pointed star emblazoned on his chest. He was one of the Onyx Guard.

Marcus's mind raced. The Onyx Guard were rumored to be the most elite soldiers throughout the Empire. More importantly the Onyx Guard served exclusively as the personal bodyguards to the Emperor himself. So if one was now here dead did that mean the Emperor was also...

"Inspector!" A smooth, almost calming, voice called from behind.

Marcus, to his credit, resisted the urge to jump at the call. He quickly turned on his heel, keeping the barrel of his pistol low to avoid threatening whoever it was who'd called after him. "Yes?" He croaked, just barely managing to keep the mild shock out of his voice.

Standing at the other end of the hall was a woman. Her dirty blonde hair was tied back in a short ponytail, bags had formed under her hard green eyes, and her tanned skin was practically flawless aside from a jagged scar that carved its way from her right cheek to her left eyebrow. Most notably, however, was her dark crimson uniform accented with silver buttons and filigree. Marcus wasn't the most knowledgeable when it came to mercenary companies, but everyone in the empire knew the uniform of the Blades of Ares.

Marcus' heart sank even lower at the sight of the officer's bars on the mercenary's uniform. "Colonel." He nodded while slipping his gun back in his pocket, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I imagine he's your handiwork." He gestured to the dead guard.

The colonel shifted on one foot, peering behind Marcus as if she hadn't noticed the dead body. "Not my work." She admitted, "I was on the lower levels. Only just arrived."

Marcus blinked, starting to piece together the implications of what she'd had said, but his thoughts were cut off when she waved, "Come. You're expected."

Marcus quickly fell in line with the colonel before he had a chance to think about it. His mind raced as they made their way through the spire. The hallways were marred with scorch marks from laser weapons and bullet holes. Bodies of more Onyx Guard as well as Blades infantrymen were scattered throughout, laying in pools of blood. The closer they got to the center of the spire, the greater Marcus' concern for his own safety grew.

Eventually they reached the central chamber of the spire which, based off appearances, served as the Emperor's personal chambers. It was a colossal room, likely larger than Marcus' small home on the outskirts of the city. Priceless paintings, tapestries, and other pieces of art decorated the walls like trophies collected by big game hunter. The room was filled with the finest furniture and silk carpets from across the Empire's countless worlds. By Marcus' estimate the entire room was probably worth the combined GDP of a dozen smaller countries.

"It truly is a sight eh investigator?"

Both Marcus and the colonel turned to face the voice. Tucked away in the far corner of the room, sitting on one of the ornate chairs, was another man. His black hair and mustache were highlighted with twinges of grey. His uniform, the dark blue of the Imperial military, was stained red with blood. Most notably were his silvery-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through Marcus. The investigator didn't need to look at the officer's stars on the man's uniform, he knew him to be Grand Marshall Conrad Cain.

"A true testament to decadence and excess." The Grand Marshall continued, rising from his seat. He crossed the room, looking around with a grimace on his face as if the mere sight of the beauty disgusted him, and stopped a few feet away from Marcus.

"Where's the Emperor?" Marcus asked. The colonel next to him shot him a curious glance, evidently not expecting him to be so blunt.

Cain gestured behind him to the gilded lift on the far side of the room, "He's up in the bunker at the top of the spire with the rest of his guards. Once we're done here I'll be going to collect him."

"So...what? The military's taking control of the Empire?"

"Not the military." Cain corrected, "The people." He paced over to a nearby table, picking up a bottle of amber liquid and pouring himself a glass, "The Empire is rotten from the inside out. It's collapsing under the weight of the corruption and of the excess of it's ruling class." He turned back to face Marcus, taking a drink.

"So you're here to kill the leadership? To establish yourself as the new Emperor? One who'll set things right?"

"I'm here to cut out the cancer." Cain answered, placing the empty glass back down on the table. "Once we've healed we'll create something new. But I haven't called you here to discuss politics."

He nodded to the colonel who withdrew a small sheet of paper and passed it to Marcus. Marcus unfolded it to reveal a short phrase, _'Beware the legacy of the Ren-Miruu.'_ He looked up from the page and raised an eyebrow, "Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"The Onyx Guard did more than protect the Emperor. Their commander was also one of his advisors on classified projects. Projects that even I was never told about. When I killed the commander those were his last words." He pointed to the name on the paper, "At first I didn't understand what he'd said but that name, the Ren-Miruu, appeared multiple times in his journals. I want you to find out what this 'legacy' is."

"Why me?"

"Because your service record suggests you're one of the best investigators that Intelligence ever employed. While I don't necessarily care for your...distasteful...company nowadays, you're still one of the few assets still available without explicit ties to the throne." The Grand Marshall shifted on one foot before adding, "Essentially you're the only person I could think of who I could trust with this sort of thing."

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as the Marshall continued, "You'll be paid handsomely and will be given all the access you need to classified records and information." He removed a signet ring from his finger and offered it to Marcus, "If anyone in the government or the military gives you trouble show them this. They'll know that I sent you, and by tomorrow morning I'll be the highest authority in the Empire."

Marcus pondered for a moment. It wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matter, he just wasn't sure how he planned to proceed, and he was sure the Grand Marshall would want results sooner rather than later. He folded the page and tucked it in his pocket, then accepted the ring, "I'll need someone to send me copies of the commander's journals. Anything that mentions these...Ren-Miruu...that's the only place I can think of to start."

"Good. I'll have copies sent to your home." The Grand Marshall nodded before turning towards the lift to the Emperor's bunker, the Blades of Ares' colonel falling in line alongside him.

Marcus, hesitantly, nodded and took that as his cue to leave. He reached the doorway before the Grand Marshall called back to him, "Don't fail me Inspector. I've no patience for those who fail to meet my expectations."

Once outside and out of sight Marcus nearly collapsed to the floor, having to steady himself against the wall. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to come to terms with the news that had just been thrust upon him. What the Grand Marshall had said was true, it was no secret the Emperor wasn't well liked throughout the Empire, and factions had formed lobbying for a reformation of the government. Marcus had even found himself somewhat sympathetic to those factions. It's just that…

"Just that the military's now in control…" He spoke out loud, completing his thought. More specifically, Grand Marshall Cain was in control. For better or for worse.

He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper, _'Beware the legacy of the Ren-Miruu.'_ He shook his head and sighed, "I hate riddles…"

* * *

 **Conrad Cain**

Conrad stepped into the lift with Altynay, turning around just in time to see the investigator go. When the doors to the lift close he let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall of the lift. "I'm worried I just made a mistake." He muttered loud enough for Altynay to hear.

"What? Involving him?" She asked.

"He's just another complication thrown into this whole mess. I wanted this to be clean."

"If you wanted clean," Altynay observed, her voice light, "you wouldn't have called the Blades."

"Like I had a choice." Cain replied with a laugh, "I've lost sleep trying to think of how many royalists I'll be dealing with after tonight." He locked eyes with her, "My forces will be stretched thin as it is dealing with the Ascendancy. You'll be there to fill the cracks once the dust settles." He added, "You've signed quite the lucrative contract."

They rode the elevator in silence for a moment before Altynay asked, "What are the predicted casualties?"

There was a pause before Conrad replied, "I've screened what admirals and ship captains will be loyal to me and deployed them with those I'm not so sure about. They're under orders to fire immediately should there be any question about their loyalty once the news spreads." He nodded, rolling the numbers again in his head, before continuing, "Best estimate? I'll have command of eighty percent of the fleet once the dust settles."

He chewed his lip before adding, "If things don't go as perfect as I want I could be working with seventy to sixty-five percent. This is not taking into account the ground forces."

"What about the civilian population?"

"The worlds will fall into line." He said with a wave of his hand, "They've been calling for the Emperor's head for years. The alloy foundries on Geleron have shut down and gone on strike. Farmers on agricultural worlds like Ulthar feel like second class citizens. Everyone from miners to technicians to office workers want change." He rubbed the back of his head before continuing, "The difference is that the military's held by tradition. We're supposed to be beholden to the Empire. They've taken oaths to the Emperor. They're not easily forgotten."

"So why have you broken yours?" She asked.

Conrad's eyes remained fixed to the floor, glaring as if he could burn a hole through the steel, "He lost my loyalty a long time ago…"

The lift doors opened to a long hallway, leading down to a pair of heavy steel doors. Bodies of his soldiers, Bladesmen, and Onyx Guard littered the halls. He moved quickly, his boot heels clicking on the metallic floor, until he reached the other end of the hall where three squads of his soldiers waited. They were licking their wounds when he arrived, nearly half of them having sustained injuries during the fierce fighting while the Emperor retreated back to his shelter, the doors of which he now hid behind.

A sergeant was the first to notice he'd arrived and quickly snapped a salute shouting, "Sir! We're prepared to breach on your command!"

Cain nodded to the sergeant, waving a salute, "Rest for now soldier. They're sealed in with no way out. I'd rather you lot survive the night than throw yourselves into the lion's den." The sergeant nodded, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he dropped back down to finish bandaging one of his comrades.

The Grand Marshall looked around the room until his eyes fell upon the small panel set on the wall next to the doors. It'd been blasted during the Guard's retreat to prevent his forces from opening the bunker from the outside. Cain looked over to Altynay, who'd split off to help care for some of her own men, and said, "Can one of your splicers get me a comm-line through that?"

She stood, squinted at the panel, then nodded, "I'll do it myself."

He blinked, "You can splice?"

She nodded, a cocky grin appearing on her lips, "In the Blades we advance through merit. We don't get cushy jobs in the military just because daddy was an admiral."

Anger brushed through Cain's subconscious for a brief moment. He hated it when she undermined him, especially when she did it in front of his men. The worst part was that she knew that he hated it. He swallowed the irritation and ordered, "Get me in."

The whole process took only a few minutes as Altynay removed a technician's kit from one of the dead bodies and, after tweaking with the surviving circuits and wiring from the blast, managed to pull up a small interface on a tablet. She handed Cain a headset and nodded, "Give me the signal and I'll patch you in on the other side."

He nodded, "Do it."

There was a buzz of static before a voice called over the line. "Who is this? How did you get access to this frequency?" Conrad could tell whoever owned the voice was terrified. He didn't blame him. Even the Onyx Guard would understand that they were hopelessly outgunned, and they were only treading water. Sooner or later Conrad would breach the bunker and kill whoever was inside.

"This is Grand Marshall Conrad Cain." Conrad replied, putting as much authority as he could muster into his voice, "I'm here to arrest the Emperor for crimes against the people of the Empire. Surrender now and you'll not be harmed."

"We-we've no patience for traitors!" The voice stuttered, "We will remain until those loyal to the Emperor come to arrest you!"

"Don't be a fool!" Conrad barked, "I command the full might of the military. If you don't believe me I suggest you look to the countless number of your dead brethren who fought so hard to defend this palace. Open those doors and you'll be treated with utmost respect as will the rest of your comrades."

"We will not capitulate to a liar and a traitor!" A new voice replied, one who sounded older and more stern, though Conrad could still make out the faint sound of the other soldiers in the room. He was on speaker. Everyone beyond the doors could hear him.

"And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to now?"

The reply caught Conrad off guard, "I am your Emperor traitor!"

The Grand Marshall could help but let a laugh escape his lips, "Even now, in your final days, you lead good men to their deaths _Emperor_." He spat the word as if it was poisonous. "What honeyed words of reassurance have you told those men guarding you? What promises have you made them? Did you tell them that they'd survive? Did you promise them colossal estates on the beaches of worlds far beyond Terra?" He shouted into the microphone, if only to ensure that everyone on the other side would hear his voice, "To those guards who remain I want you to know this: I will give you ten minutes to open that door and release this fool to me! If you comply I will fulfill those promises! I will let you return to your families and your friends! If you do not then I will blast my way in there and slaughter every man who stands between me and the Emperor who has brought our great Empire to the brink of destruction! Make your choice!"

He deactivated the headset and tossed it to Altynay. She stared at it for a moment before nodding in appreciation, "That was good. You even convinced me."

"It sounds like you don't believe me." Conrad replied, drawing his sidearm. He turned to the sergeant who'd spoken before. "Sergeant rig this door with charges, we brought more than enough to cut our way through that. We breach in five minutes."

"Five minutes Grand Marshall?" The sergeant asked while picking up a large pack of explosives.

"They'll have made their choice by then. I don't want to give them time to prepare."

The sergeant gathered up a trio of soldiers who subsequently placed the disc shaped charges against the heavy steel of the door. What the charges lacked in appearance they made up for in explosive power. They were primarily used by boarding parties who used them to blow holes in the sides of enemy ships before entering. The door to the Emperor's bunker, while sturdy, wouldn't hold up to that much firepower.

Conrad stared down at his watch. It was an ancient pocket watch, an heirloom in his family. Three minutes had passed. "Soldiers. Prepare yourselves." All around him rifles clicked and hummed as the men readied their energy cells. At four minutes Conrad put the watch in his pocket and readied his own weapon. He held the detonator in the other hand. At five minutes he held up the detonator, his thumb hovering over the button. Just before he pressed it he heard a hiss as the hydraulic locks on the other side of the door disengaged and the doors slid open.

"Hold your fire!" Conrad shouted as three Onyx Guardsmen stepped out, hands raised.

One of them, a younger man barely out of his twenties, gestured over his shoulder at the other two men who stepped out, dragging the Emperor along with them. "We surrender!" The young guard cried out.

Conrad broke ranks with his soldiers and stepped up to the two soldiers holding the Emperor. The Emperor was ancient, with long, whispy, grey hair and a beard nearly reaching his knees. He was dressed in fine purple robes which had been tattered in the frantic escape to the bunker. He stared down at the floor, not matching Conrad's gaze.

The Grand Marshall reached down and grabbed the Emperor's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. He stared down at the old man, fury building in his gut, before dropping his chin and looking away. "Sergeant!"

"Sir!"

"Lock this man up in the Black Cells beneath the spire. There he will rot." The sergeant snapped his fingers, summoning two other men who took the Emperor from the guardsmen. They shuffled off back to the lift.

"What do we do with the rest of the guard?" Altynay asked, her weapon still charged and ready.

"I made a promise." Conrad replied, nodding to the younger man. "Confiscate their weapons and armor and send them to their homes. I will not spill any more blood than we have to."

He turned away as his men jumped into action. He walked back towards the lift, alone, lost in thought. He mumbled to himself, "Gone is the old Empire. Tomorrow I build our new future in the stars."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon when the shuttle touched down on the precinct house's landing pad. By the time it'd landed the stims had worn off and Marcus began to feel the familiar weight of fatigue bearing down on his senses. He stumbled out of the shuttle and down the stairs into the office. Despite it being so early in the morning the office was packed with people and abuzz with activity. Enforcers shuffled back and forth, dragging newly arrested perpetrators to processing. Secretaries rushed back and forth distributing folders of cases amongst investigators who, at the same time, were trying to question witnesses, make calls, and generally try to remain sane in the pandamonium.

Marcus, despite the fatigue, nimbly ducked through all the foot traffic. It was a dance he'd honed and practiced through years spent working in multiple precincts across Terra. He managed to cut through the crowds to the stairwell leading down. He descended the stairs two at a time until he reached the bottom floor which was packed even tighter. He shouldered his way through the crowd, drawing more than his fair share of glares, before he reached his small office tucked away in one of the corners.

He managed to fumble his keycard out of his pocket and flicked it against the lock, cursing under his breath as the defective scanner refused to read the card. He repeated the process three more times before the lock turned green and disengaged, letting him slip inside and push the door shut behind him. He released a long exhale, slumping against the door and shutting his eyes, taking a second to let the events from the last few hours settle in his stomach.

He shook his head, afraid that keeping his eyes closed for more than a few seconds would let him fall asleep, and crossed over to his desk. His office was one of the smaller ones in the precinct. Unlike most investigators he didn't mind the cramped space, most days he never stepped foot in the precinct so he didn't have a reason to care. The only pain was that, on the off day when he did show up, he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him.

He stepped up to his desk, taking off his still wet jacket and draping it over the chair. He dropped to one knee and reached underneath the desk, far enough that he rested his head against the side. He fumbled around grasping at the cool metal until his middle finger brushed up against a small button. He pushed hard and heard a faint _click,_ then withdrew a small silver case from within the size of a lunchbox.

He set the case on the top of the desk, brushing aside the case folders and paperwork to make room. Inside he found three small racks of stims akin to those he carried in the silver cigarette case in his coat pocket. There were fifteen vials in all over half of which had already been used. He withdrew four stims, placing one on the desktop and replacing the other three with the empty three in his cigarette case. Once done he jabbed the fourth vial in his arm. He had to stabilize himself against the desk as the familiar wave of energy gripped his muscles, making him seize for a brief moment, before settling back to normal.

He stood there leaning over the desk with his palms pressed on the surface for a long minute, collecting his thoughts. The Emperor was dead, or at least would be within the next few days. What happens now that he's gone? He knew that the military would do a competent enough job running things while the dust settled, but that didn't mean it'd be a comfortable process. Best they could hope for was riots and martial law. The worst was civil war.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the crinkled piece of paper Conrad had given him, ' _Beware the legacy of the Ren-Miruu'._ He sighed, tossing it amongst the papers on his desk, "This is far above my pay grade."

He heard a click at the door and half-panicked, slamming the stims case shut and tucking it out of sight under his desk. He spun around just as Manny, the precinct captain, barged in. He was a larger man, built like a heavyweight boxer, with a shaved head and squared jaw. Marcus had always thought that Manny had been done a disservice when he was promoted to captain. He was clever enough but his build and physique made him suited for more physically taxing occupations. Something like breaking rocks with his bare hands.

"Oh so you do work here!" Manny exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped forward and picked a trio of thick folders up off the desk, holding them up for Marcus to see, "I told the secretaries not to bother leaving these since nobody actually worked here. They promised me that someone would get to them eventually, but I didn't believe them until today."

"Look, chief, not to sound rude but it's been a long night. I was just stopping by to drop some things off before heading home to get some sleep." He picked his coat up off the chair and slung it over his shoulder, "Let's just skip to the end. Am I fired or no?"

Manny pondered the question for a moment before shrugging, "I haven't decided yet."

"Well once you do give me a call. You know my number." He tried to slip past the massive man, but was halted when one of his meaty hands rested on his shoulder.

"Where were you last night?" Manny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Marcus blinked, matching his boss' gaze, "What do you mean?"

"The question is fairly self explanatory." Many nodded, dragging Marcus back and dropping him down in his chair, "Rosewood saw you get picked up by an unmarked shuttle. That same one just dropped you off on the roof a few minutes ago. Whoever they were they had authorization codes to land on the roof, otherwise the defence grid would've shot them down."

Marcus tried to stand but Manny pushed him back down in the chair. He sighed, frustrated, and pondered his response before saying, "I was...invited...to visit the spire."

The captain's eyes narrowed as if his glare could burrow into Marcus' mind and extract the secrets within, "What for?" His eyes wandered while Marcus stammered for an answer, they fell on the crumpled piece of paper lying on his desk. He picked it up before Marcus had a chance to stop him and read it aloud, "Beware the legacy of the Ren-Miruu?" He looked from the paper back down to Marcus, "Is this part of it?"

"How about this," Marcus sprung from the seat and snatched the page from Manny's fingers, then dashed to the door before the captain could stop him, "I'll deal with my own business. You keep your eyes on the news." He bolted out the door and through the precinct before Manny could respond. Within a minute he was out on the streets headed home.

* * *

The colossal lift shuddered as it plummeted down below the first layer of Terra's surface. Terra, being an ecumenopolis as well as being the capital of the Empire, was packed with people. To compensate for the enormous population multiple tiers of city had been built directly on top of one another, with speeder lanes established to coordinate traffic between the layers. Of course for those who couldn't afford speeders, colossal lifts were erected to transport people between them.

Marcus shifted back and forth, standing at the center of the giant rumbling contraption that shambled down the track to the bowels of the planet. Lifts made him uncomfortable, and Conrad's soldiers had been kind enough to drop him off at the precinct rather than his apartment down below, all without his personal speeder. He subtly tried to look around him at all the different folk trapped in the steel cage with him. Coming from the surface the lift was mostly packed with blue bloods all dressed in their fine pressed suits and dress clothes, ready to churn away at the rumbling machine that was the Imperial government.

Were he on a lift from one of the lower levels coming up he knew it'd be a different picture. Most likely he'd be trapped with factory workers and technicians covered in grime and sweat as they returned, exhausted and worn down, to their much smaller homes on one of the lower levels.

The lift came to a stop three levels, and a couple hundred feet, below the surface. Technically he was still in the government district, which meant there would be _slightly_ more chance at an enforcer stepping in should someone try to mug him, but despite that he kept one hand in his pocket with a firm grip around the short pistol within.

The doors to the lift slowly shuddered open, depositing the denizens inside onto a raised loading platform. Marcus blinked, looking up at the artificial sunlight generators embedded in the ceiling far above his head. Despite the staggering technological advances it took to create and sustain an ecumenopolis like Terra it had always baffled Marcus how they were wholly incapable of making artificial sunlight look like actual sunlight. Rather than feeling like the warm embrace of the sun on a summer's afternoon it felt more like he was an ant feeling the unholy wrath of a curious child with a magnifying glass.

Marcus followed the flow of the crowd down the stairs and off the loading pad, rolling his shoulders to slip off his coat as the artificial sun's unrelenting heat continued to press down on him. He allowed himself to be swept into the foot traffic carrying him in the general direction of his destination. He let his eyes wander as he moved, having spent so much time in the same traffic for so many years he could walk the beat with his eyes closed. Countless advertisements flashed and sparkled all around him, their colorful displays focus tested and designed to specifically target those saps in the crowd with just enough disposable income to invest in whatever product flashed above their heads.

Marcus ducked out of the crowd just before they reached an intersection, slipping down an alley between two towers, both of which sharing a joined advertisement for one of the three megacorps in the sector. Any place off the beaten path in the lower levels gave the appearance of being dangerous, and this alley was no exception. Garbage littered the ground and graffiti had been sprayed on nearly every surface. A trio of unseemly individuals stood huddled together, whispering between one another, only to stare at Marcus as he walked by. The only reason that they didn't jump him, he presumed, was because they'd seen him before and knew he was armed.

He reached his destination about halfway down the alley. There was a single, graffiti covered, steel door imbedded in the wall with a small eyeslot. Marcus knocked twice waiting for just a few seconds before the slot slid open and a pair of beady eyes appeared, staring back at him.

"What chu want?" The high pitched, almost nasally, lookout demanded.

"Here to see Skag."

"Well that's too bad." The lookout spat back, "He left twenty minutes ago."

Marcus brought his coat back around and slipped his hand in one of the pockets and withdrew a money clip. He flashed twenty credits worth of bills, "You sure he left? If I remember right he doesn't leave house on game day."

The lookout didn't bother with a reply. There was a click on the other side of the door before it was pulled open, revealing the lookout on the other side. He was a tall rail of a man with arms and legs that looked like they would snap if the slightest breeze came by. Marcus pushed the credits into the lookout's outstretched hand before shouldering past and into the building.

He was hit with the odor of sweat, cheap beer, oil, and blood before he even reached the main floor of the shop. When the hallway finally opened up to the shop the smell was almost too overwhelming to bear. There were three "bays" in the shop, each of which set up like a doctor's chair only with far more insidious accessories. Around each chair were an assortment of saws, industrial drills and other power tools, and buckets stained with dried blood.

"Mister Verser!" Skag called from his office tucked away at the back of the room, "What a pleasure to see you again my friend!"

"Yeah you too Skag." Marcus mumbled while looking around the room. One of the bays had recently been used, the area around the drain below the chair still wet from the hose that'd washed blood away. He looked over to the wall behind the bay where a young woman lay sleeping on a worn couch, her right arm stretched out and resting on a short metal table. Marcus approached and lifted the towel draped over her arm to reveal a web of cybernetic implants stretching from the palm of her hand up to her shoulder like veins.

"Work's been good Skag?" He called over his shoulder, "Who's this? Some rich girl trying to get back at daddy? Your boys bring her to you saying you were the best grafter in town?" He turned around to face Skag, who'd left his office. Skag was covered in implants from head to toe. Both of his eyes had been removed, replaced with a pair of cybernetic ones that glowed with a neon blue hue. His entire right arm and left leg from the knee down had been replaced. Glowing wires, much like those on the young woman, were visible on his chest under his white shirt, all of them spidering all across his torso.

"The best grafter on the planet." He corrected, holding up a finger and flashing a toothy grin. "Be sure to get that right."

Marcus could taste the faintest hint of bile at the back of his throat, threatening to throw up at the very sight of Skag. Grafters, like Skag, had a fetish for cybernetics to the point where it was an almost fanatical desire to visit chop shops, like Skag's, and replace _something_ with machinery. Once they'd cut themselves enough they figured they'd go into business and spread the good news of cybernetic enhancement, trying to draw more people to the addiction.

Of course there were those, like Marcus, who didn't care for enhancements. However where Marcus simply didn't have the desire to get "enhanced" other factions took it to a greater extreme. People like the Human Purity League, or the HPL, took that distaste to a fanatical extreme by bombing clinics and forcibly removing cybernetics from those who got enhanced in the first place.

Skag took a few steps closer, closing the distance between the two, his smile not wavering, "How can I help you today inspector?" He gestured to one of the nearby bays, "Here to finally get cut?"

Marcus felt an uncomfortable shiver crawl up his spine. He suppressed his sudden urge to walk away before replying, "Maybe next time."

"You sure? You haven't even taken a look at my catalogue. I'm positive there's something I've got that'll help on the job." He pointed to one of his two glowing eyes, "These are the newest models. They can break down any item to its chemical components. Can see infrared and heat. Can even see through walls." He gestured to his prosthetic arm, "If you're feeling adventurous you could get the whole package. Capable of tripling your strength in that arm, and can be equipped with self defence and utility mods." As if to demonstrate his forearm bisected in two to reveal the barrel of a short range plasma caster.

He winked before the arm closed back up, "All this for a reasonable price."

Marcus waited a moment before pointing at the arm, "I'm sure you've got the permit for that?"

Skag laughed. It was short and disingenuous. "This guy and his jokes!" He said to no one in particular, "I always say you're the funniest government stooge I know."

"Well I appreciate that." Marcus smiled with his own insincere grin, "It gives me the warm fuzzies knowing I'm your favorite government stooge."

The grifter flipped a switch, turning on one of the overhead lights above the bay. The light draped down over the bloodstained chair, illuminating it and all its gory glory, "So what'll it be?"

"Call me unadventurous but, despite the wonderful sales pitch, I'm not here to get cut."

"Too bad." Skag's demeanor switched immediately from used shuttle salesman to uninterested gangster. He flicked off the lights and turned to walk away, "I appreciate you stopping by. Slip the doorman another twenty when you leave as compensation for wasting my time."

"I've still got business." Marcus called to Skag as the grifter made his way to the office.

The grifter turned on his heel, smile reapplied to his face, though there was a hint of suspicion in his gaze. He gestured to the door, "Well step on in! Let's talk business!"

Skag's office was without doubt the nicest room in the shop, though that distinction wasn't terribly difficult to earn. It was slightly bigger than most closets, only really large enough to contain a small desk, a pair of chairs, and a single TV that was most likely stolen. Skag dropped down into his chair facing the TV, flicking the remote to turn to a random news station. Marcus sat in the rickety wooden chair next to him.

"So," Skag started, shifting in his seat to get comfortable, "let's talk business."

"You still have friends in the government."

Skag shot him a curious glance, "Aside from you? Maybe."

Marcus didn't bother arguing whether or not they were friends, it was a curious relationship they shared, instead he nodded and withdrew the crumpled paper from his pocket. "I need you to do some digging. I need to know what the Ren-Miruu is."

Skag took the paper, read it, and shook his head, "Never heard of it. Sounds like an alien thing."

"I was able to guess that much." Marcus quipped. "All I know is that it was classified and buried deep in the government. Deeper than I can dig."

"So what makes you think my friends can do any better?"

"Well like you said this is probably an alien thing. I don't have access to those kinds of files, I'm all domestic. Maybe in time I can get some access but that's a luxury I don't have. Your boys, on the other hand, are already embedded in the system." Marcus hesitated before adding, "It'd be a favor to me."

Skag stifled a laugh, "Oh a favor to you mister inspector? What does that get me?"

"I'll keep my boys off your back for another two months. I'll still check in now and then to check around and make sure you haven't started cutting and grafting kids or any other kind of sadistic BS." He then reached in his pocket and withdrew a slim cream colored card, "Plus you can give me a call if you need a 'get out of jail free' card."

For a brief second Marcus got the sinking feeling that Skag would turn him down, leaving him lead-less in the mystery. That dread was dismissed when the grifter snatched the card and nodded, "You got a deal."

Marcus shook the grifter's hand, offering a disingenuous smile, and stood to leave. He stopped in his tracks when the TV flashed red and changed channel. Gone was the well mannered news anchor and in their place was Grand Marshall Conrad Cain.

Marcus collapsed back into the chair as if he'd been punched in the gut as the Marshall started to speak, "Citizens of the Empire. For those of you who don't know who I am, I am Grand Marshall Conrad Cain. Commander of the Imperial military and protector of this great Empire."

The doorman rushed into the office, "Skag you seeing this?! His face is plastered on every billboard and adspace in the city!"

Both Skag and Marcus leaned forward, ignoring the doorman, as the Grand Marshall continued, "For too long has our Empire been shackled to the suffocating yoke of the Emperor. Under his leadership we stagnated. Conditions across our worlds deteriorated to the point of anarchy. Businesses, from the greatest corporation to the smallest antique store, were strangled under poor economic guidance. Other empires, our enemies, were placated with gifts of our raw minerals and energy supplies while our streets were crumbling at home."

He shook his head, his sharp gaze practically piercing the camera lens, "No more. This morning I'm here to tell you that a new dawn has come to our Empire. Last night the Emperor was arrested after it was discovered that he was planning to sell our territory to our enemies in the Kel-Tak Ascendency. He will stand trial for his crimes and, in his place, a new government will arise. One governed by the people and one that exists to serve the people.

"I won't lie to you," He continued, lowering his tone until he no longer spoke like a military commander but as a friend consoling another friend, "the transition will be difficult. But we will be here to protect and assist any who need it while your new government forms." His gaze fell to the floor for a brief second before he stood back up, back straight, "Until that time comes I'm declaring martial law throughout the Empire. The military, as well as your local officers, will provide order, protection, and stability until the new government is ready to take its place."

He paused before nodding, "Thank you for your time."

The transmission cut, leaving the three of them staring at a blank screen. Skag and Marcus both leaned back in their seats, almost in perfect unison. Skag was the first to break the silence, "So...the Emperor's gone? Cain's taken control?"

"It's temporary." Marcus managed, his tone more defensive than he'd anticipated.

Skag rolled his head to the side to stare at the investigator, "Men like Conrad Cain don't just give up their power. Especially when they get an entire Empire's worth of it."

Marcus didn't reply instead he just stood up and made his way to the door. He stopped before leaving the office, momentarily turning to Skag, "Let me know what you find out. You know how to reach me." Before leaving the shop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Conrad stood at the window staring out at the pillars of smoke that rose from the streets below the spire. Two days had passed since the Emperor's arrest and the riots had only just begun. The worst of it was on Terra, most of the outer colonies were dissatisfied with the Emperor to begin with so a promise of some kind of change, along with the military presence enforcing martial law, kept the people in line. On Terra, however, things were different. The factions that already existed would radicalize and draw more people in, using the Emperor's arrest as proof that the government wasn't stable and their proposed system would rescue the Empire from failing. At the same time loyalists had more opportunity to dig in and blend into the background of the sprawling cityscape, planning to strike back once Conrad's guard was down.

He'd planned for this. He knew martial law was a necessity from the outset, and years of dissolving rebellions and insurrections at the edge of the Empire had taught him how people would react once the military took control. He'd made deals with the news corporations, megacorps, and local politicians to ensure their loyalty. With them on his side they'd push positive propaganda that'd quell most of the populace and turn them to his side. The radicals, on the other hand, would require a different approach.

Successfully suppressing radicals was a delicate process. Push too hard and you turn them into martyrs, don't push hard enough and you let them gain traction. The key was turning the public against them. If police enforcers and soldiers were to march against and arrest the protesters now Conrad would be seen as a tyrant trying to usurp the government for himself. If, however, they were allowed to burn down enough government buildings and inadvertently kill one or two innocent bystanders, then they'd be seen less as defenders of freedom and more as opportunistic terrorists. It was at that point that the enforcers could roll in and do their job.

So Conrad would let them do as they pleased for now. At the end of the day riots and protests did more to disrupt the day to day lives of the common people. The truly strategic and important buildings, like the starport, the lifts, the power plants, and the spire had enough security that they'd remain secure. Everything else could be rebuilt once the dust settled.

The door to the office clicked and slid open, though Conrad didn't need to turn to recognize who it was. Their footsteps were heavy, and every other step was accented with the click and whir indicative of cybernetics. "Reporting for duty, as requested, Grand Marshall." His voice was raspy, almost strained.

"What took you so long?" Conrad quipped, feeling a smile tug at his upper lip, "Decided to take the stairs?" He turned around to face the man. He was older than Conrad by nearly two decades, falling somewhere in his seventies. His hair was thin and grey and his skin was heavily wrinkled. His left leg and arm were both cybernetic, both having been lost (along with a good portion of his torso) in a battle that had taken place long before Conrad had taken command.

Fleet Admiral Mason 'Patches' Ross snapped a salute, which Conrad returned, before nodding his reply, "Damned leg refused to cooperate. I had half a mind to tear the thing off though I decided against it when I realized I'd stain the beautiful carpets." He looked around the office, his eyes lingering on the upholstered furniture and the ornate paintings on the wall, "A bit too illustrious for you eh? Thought you preferred things a bit more utilitarian?"

"Trust me it's not permanent. It's just easier to coordinate from here rather than at the Ministry of Defence." Conrad replied, leaving his space at the window and stopping at the large mahogany desk sitting in the center of the room. He picked up a small tin cup filled with three hours cold coffee and gulped it down.

Ross nodded, pursing his lips in thought, before grumbling, "Ah probably for the best. With you here we all have a bit more room to breathe considering we're not stuck suffocating under your overdeveloped ego."

" _My_ ego?!" Conrad mocked, "I'm not the one constantly regaling everyone with stories of their past exploits and conquests, all of which you over exaggerate. Tell me again how you single handedly built the Empire after conquering its systems while leading your fleet of cosmic dragons."

The two glared at one another in silence before Ross started to chuckle, "It's good to see you again Conrad. If only it were under better circumstances..." The admiral's eyes fell and his face darkened.

"It had to be done Mason." Conrad replied, his tone quickly shifting from playful to deadly serious.

"I don't disapprove." The older admiral replied, holding up a hand, "The old bastard was a cancer that needed cut out. He paused before continuing, "The third fleet is with you to the end."

Conrad nodded, a small wave of relief washing over him. Ross was a friend, but he had also been a member of the old guard and a traditionalist. His support would help sway those within the admiralty who were sitting on the fence. "What of the other admirals? Any word on the loyalists?"

Ross shrugged, stepping past Conrad and sitting down in one of the chairs next to the desk in the center of the room. The old admiral grimaced as he sat, adjusting his leg after letting out a short grunt of pain. His was an older model cybernetic, one created when the technology was still relatively new, and thus it was still prone to seizing up and chafing where skin met metal. He could have it upgraded, but the old mule was too stubborn and prideful to have it changed out. "From what I've heard most of the admiralty is behind you. Sure there were a few who cried out in dissent but they were dealt with quickly. I'm sure some still remain, burrowed in like the ticks they are, but they won't have enough to challenge you."

"What about Vincelette? Has she checked in?"

Ross grimaced, though this time Conrad knew it wasn't because of the pain, "Dawn went dark after your announcement two days ago. Nobody's seen the _Agamemnon_ since then."

Conrad shook his head, frustrated, and stepped back over to the window. In the Empire there were three admirals that commanded the most respect and authority: Conrad Cain, Mason Ross, and Dawn Vincelette. Dawn, more specifically, had been next in line for Grand Marshall before Conrad took the job. She was calculating, tenacious, patient, and loyal. Conrad had hoped that she'd fall in line alongside Ross, seeing that the Emperor was doing more harm than good. Her opposition would serve as a linchpin for the loyalist cause. Even worse, if she did fall in with the loyalists, she could draw those who'd sided with Conrad back to the loyalist cause.

"The _Agamemnon_ was patrolling near the Drak border. The closest Imperial outpost is Titan station. If she hopes to rally any kind of support Titan would be her first stop." He turned back to Ross, "Take a flotilla out to Titan, see if you can't track her down."

"And your orders if I do?"

Conrad was silent for a moment, "Convince her to fall in line. If she refuses consider her an enemy combatant and treat her as such."

"Aye sir." Ross saluted, turning to leave.

Conrad called out just as the admiral reached the door, "Ross," the older man turned and Conrad continued, "if it does come to it...try to keep the ship intact. It'd be a shame to lose a ship like the _Agamemnon_ to something as petty as a civil war."

Ross nodded, a hint of a smile touching his lips, before leaving. Conrad collapsed in the chair once the door closed behind the admiral. The days had been restless, and his refusal to use stims had pushed him to his limits. His eyelids felt heavier than lead, requiring all the will he could muster to stop them from slamming shut.

He shook himself awake, looking to his watch and then out the window. Dawn was fast approaching, and the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. He nodded to himself and rose from his seat, straightening his uniform and fixing his hair. He had one more thing to do before the day began. He had to pay the former Emperor a visit before the execution.

* * *

The Black Cells beneath the Spire were built for the Empire's most dangerous criminals. From high ranking terrorists to influential political provocateurs the cells were designed the enemies housed within for the rest of their lives. Initially the existence of the cells were kept a secret, due mostly to the fact that once people learned about a secret internment facility whose occupants would be subjected to (what people would assume to be) unspeakable torment and torture there would be protests about keeping the cells open. Predictably once someone within the government leaked that the Black Cells did in fact exist, there was enough political backlash that the cells were officially closed, and the criminals housed within were simply moved to different internment camps off planet where the populace didn't have to worry about them anymore.

Unofficially the cells still existed, though their use was frowned upon, at least by those who still knew that they were still in use.

Conrad had no objections to the cells. In fact he found them rather useful. Keeping your enemies in one place, one heavily fortified and defended place, guaranteed that they couldn't escape your grasp. More importantly, keeping them below the Spire kept them close enough that if you had to pry them for information you didn't have to go far to start pulling fingernails, figuratively speaking of course.

The biggest drawback to the Black Cells, at least in Conrad's opinion, was that it was damned tedious to get to them. The Spire, as the name suggests, was massive and the cells were located underground. Therefore to actually reach them from the top floors one had to go through a series of checkpoints and blast doors, all of which required full body scans that no one, no matter their rank, could avoid. Meaning that what could've been a simple, long, elevator ride down to the bottom was converted to multiple weapon detectors, various ID scanners, and a handful of good old fashioned pat downs just for good measure.

The cells themselves were relatively innocuous. Naturally they were cold and dark, as all proper military prisons should be, but they also were equipped with various instruments meant to make their occupants as uncomfortable as possible. These instruments ranged from overpowered speakers and high voltage strobe lights to overload the subject's senses to simple climate control systems which could change the cell's temperature from freezing cold to overwhelmingly hot depending on the warden's temperament that day. Sure these sound like relatively simple means of torment, but after being subjected to these means long enough it was guaranteed that just about anyone would break in one of the many Black Cells.

Luckily for the Emperor he'd just been restricted to total darkness and complete silence for his short tenure in the cells.

After what felt like an eternity of travel Conrad reached the Emperor's cell, which was guarded by four soldiers hand picked by Conrad himself to ensure the loyalists didn't have a chance to free the Emperor while the Marshall's back was turned. The trio gave him a quick salute which he waved off, "Open the door and turn on the lights. I need to have a chat with our guest." The four obliged, quickly unlocking the blast door to the cell before falling back to their posts on either side of the door.

Conrad stepped inside, closing the door behind him and making sure it was sealed shut before turning to the former Emperor. The elderly man sat in the corner, his grey hair was matted down to his head and his formerly illustrious robes were soiled by sweat and waste. After a moment the smell hit Conrad, though whether out of pride or stubbornness he didn't cover his nose or turn away.

After taking a moment to examine the fallen Emperor he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a fine leather cigar case and cutter. He withdrew one and snipped the end, "I hope you don't mind. I rarely have the time to indulge myself nowadays."

"Of course." The Emperor replied, his voice tired and quiet, "Though I doubt you'd stop on my account."

"True enough I suppose." Conrad replied, pulling out a small lighter. He took the time to roll the stick between his fingers, holding the flame far enough away from the other end of the cigar so that it didn't touch but slowly toasted the rolled tobacco. He slipped the lighter in his pocket and puffed the cigar twice before taking one long draw, tasting the simple, familiar, elements of vanilla and earthiness, before releasing the smoke which coalesced around him.

"Real tobacco?" The Emperor asked, breaking the silence.

"Not from Terra." Conrad replied, drawing once again from the stick, "Imported from Mars."

The Emperor snorted, shaking his head, "Nothing compared to ours. Check my desk if you want a taste of the real thing. I kept a small stash in the bottom drawer of my desk."

Conrad choked on an involuntary laugh, "You smoke? As Emperor aren't you above such things?"

"I had to find something to help relax after dealing with the bickering of sector governors all day and night. Commander Reiken kept a decent supply of spirits in his office as well if your staff hasn't found it already."

Conrad pondered for a moment before stepping over and offering the cigar. The Emperor looked from the smoldering stogie to the Grand Marshall, "One last smoke before the guillotine?" He asked, accepting the smoke.

"Don't be so dramatic." Conrad shot back, lighting another cigar and drawing from it.

"Dramatic?" The Emperor coughed out a chuckle, puffing out smoke as he did, "You've no room to criticize with your grand speeches, rallying my guard against me and declaring martial law." He savored another drag before continuing, "I meant to ask did you rehearse that short bit you gave outside my safe room, or did you have it on cue cards?"

"Spend enough time among the troops and you know what to say to get them to side with you. Especially when they know they're about to die for a pointless cause." Conrad replied.

The Emperor nodded, smoke wafting around him, "True enough I suppose." He hesitated before asking, "What are you doing here Conrad?"

"The Ren-Miruu," The Grand Marshall replied, letting his words hang in the air before he continued, "What are they. What's this legacy your commander was so worried about?"

"You saw that eh?" The Emperor nodded, almost approvingly, "To be terribly honest we didn't know. We had just begun launching an investigation before your shock troops invaded. Perhaps if you'd postponed your coup a few days you would've had some answers."

Conrad held back a sneer. He knew it'd be too easy if the Emperor had the answers to the mystery, but it would've been damned convenient to at least get one thing off his plate. "Fair enough." He ashed the cigar and turned towards the door.

"One thing Conrad." The Emperor called to him. The Grand Marshal turned to face him as he continued, "Why did you do this? Why did you really?"

"Why would I tell you that?" He didn't bother stifling this laugh.

The Emperor gestured to the room around him, "I've no idea how much time has passed, but I'm assuming I'll be meeting the firing squad sooner rather than later. Indulge me, I promise I won't tell anyone."

Conrad mulled over his response before saying, "It's as I said. To improve the quality of life of our people. To keep the Empire secure."

"Oh please," The Emperor rolled his eyes, "We both know you couldn't give a damn about the common man. The only purpose they'd serve is as fodder for the enemy, should they arrive at our gates. And we both know the Empire is secure enough, even with the Kel-Tak posturing on our borders." He leaned forward, draping his arms over his knees, "Why did you really?"

Conrad opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. The Emperor's eyes bored into him, as if he could see into the Grand Marshall's soul. Conrad shook his head and pounded on the blast door, "Guard! Open!" The door slid open and Conrad looked back to meet the Emperor's gaze once again, "I'll send a priest by later for your last rites. You'll be meeting that firing squad at noon today." With that he stepped out into the cold halls of the Black Cells and back towards the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Marcus woke up on the floor of his apartment. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, his mouth was dry, and his head was pounding as if it was ready to explode. He rolled over onto his back and pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead, gritting his teeth as if he could dismiss the headache through sheer force of will. He knew nothing would come of it. He'd gone too long without any sleep, pumping his body full of stims to overclock his mind and body, and that kind of stress would eventually take its toll.

What didn't help the headache was the frustration that had been building ever since his clandestine meeting with Conrad Cain. By all accounts the 'legacy of the Ren-Miru' was complete nonsense. Two days of non-stop research and investigation had turned up nothing. No mention of the Ren-Miru, whatever they were, in any of the archives he could dig up. The access to government files Conrad had provided turned over no information. Skag, who Marcus had admittedly already dismissed as a source of information, who supposedly had contacts in hacktivist groups who were supposed to be able to dig up info on the most secretive and obscure government conspiracies, had yet to get him anything.

It was enough to drive a man mad.

He pushed himself up off the ground, muscles protesting as he did, and stretched in an attempt to ward off the stiffness brought on by laying on the hard floor for...he didn't actually know how long. He heard some rustling from the side bedroom before a streak of black and white fur dashed out of the doorway towards him. Moments later he was pushed back to the floor under nearly fifty pounds of husky.

"Silver for god's sake!" Marcus heaved between dog kisses, trying to placate the beast that had ambushed him. Eventually he managed to push the monster back, scrambling back a foot to glare at the beast. Silver's tail wagged back and forth and the dog returned his glare with a big doggy grin, tongue hanging out and all.

Unable to keep a straight face Marcus chuckled and nuzzled the beast, "You catch any bad guys while I was gone?" Silver barked, the sound piercing Marcus' brain as if he'd been hit with a railroad spike, and started for the door. "We'll go out in a few let me just...recover." He sighed, scratching at his brow.

He scanned the room for his PCS which he eventually found laying on top of the glass coffee table, along with his other personal effects, that ran alongside a worn out couch. He picked up the handheld and was greeted with a message from Skag. It simply read, _'Mister Inspector. Call me when you wake up. Might be able to help you with your little mystery."_

A small flitter of hope danced around Marcus' stomach, though he quickly wrote it off as hunger. After researching for forty eight hours and coming up with nothing, he wouldn't dare expect something groundbreaking to come from this potential lead. He flicked his finger across the PCS' touchscreen, opened a news broadcast, and dropped the device back down on the table while he shuffled off to get something to eat.

After a few seconds of loading the broadcast came on, "Thanks to the quick response and coordination of peacekeeping forces, riots throughout the Empire have been dispersed with little major damage or casualties reported. Some of the outer colonies, such as Rohm III and the synthetic populated Galion V, have gone dark, however military peacekeepers in the area have assured us that this is due to faulty communication equipment on the newly established colonies which will soon be repaired. In the meantime all traffic and immigration to the new colonies has been halted until these issues have been resolved."

"In other news," the second broadcaster chimed in, "loyalists have begun to mass outside the Spire due to the scheduled trial and subsequent rumors of execution of the former Emperor. Critics of Grand Marshall Cain have suggested that the proposed trial will be rigged and the Emperor's fate has already been decided. News agencies across Terra have reached out to the military for any kind of comment on said rumors, however they have yet to provide a response."

Marcus stumbled back over to the table, muscles still weary, with a beer in one hand and a half eaten sandwich in the other, and shut down the broadcast. He collapsed onto the couch, which despite its apparent age was still incredibly comfortable, and let out a long sigh. Before the coup he'd hated listening to the news, now it was practically intolerable. He was stressed enough with this impossible investigation and dwelling on the political upheaval threatened to reinvigorate another blinding headache.

Marcus finished his beer and left untouched half of his sandwich on the floor for Silver, before calling Skag. The line only rang for a few moments before the grafter answered, "Hey mister investigator! Finally recovered from that stim-brain eh?" The grafter had known Marcus long enough to know his vices. Meaning that when he eventually collapsed after days of pumping stims (i.e. stim-brain) the grafter somehow always knew exactly what had happened and always found it infuriatingly hilarious.

"Not now Skag," Marcus croaked, his throat still sore, "what've you got for me?"

"That shit'll kill you man." Skag laughed while deflecting Marcus' question. "You preach about trying to keep organic, not letting me cut on you, yet you pump your brain full of chems. You're gonna burn yourself out."

"Skag!" Marcus snapped, the dreaded migraine returning, "You're not my mother so stop lecturing. Give me what you've got!"

"Okay mister investigator no need to shout, just pushing your buttons a bit." There was a sound of rustling papers on the other end before the grafter continued, "My boys hit me up with a contact, some washed out government scientist who was sidelined after some digs out on the rim. I gave her a call and dropped that funky alien name. Once she heard it she got all serious and started grilling me on why I was asking about it. When I told her about you, she said she wanted to meet face to face."

"What does she have to do with what I'm after?"

"Like I said she's a bit washed up, but what word I could dig up says she's some kind of xenohistorian. You talking about legacies and all that shit I figured history fits the bill." He paused before adding, "Plus I came up dry everywhere else so this is the best bet I got for you."

"This scientist have a name?" Marcus asked, cradling the PCS in his cheek as he fumbled his laptop open.

There was another rustling of paper, "Yeah Michele Raheem. Word is her ship was the _Drake,_ one of those early type science ships before the military retrofitted everything to look all blocky instead of stylish."

Marcus was quiet as he ran hers and the ship's name through whatever databases he could get into. The computer briefly churned the name around before coming back with a blank screen and no results. "No results on my end. You sure she's legit?"

"Give me some credit inspector!" Skag mocked, "I'm a professional, 'course I triple checked her ID. She's legit the records just got scrubbed from most government systems. I'll send you what I got."

Seconds later Marcus' PCS vibrated. He transferred the file to his computer and skimmed through its contents. It was a comprehensive report written by Dr. Raheem detailing her expedition and survey in the outer rim. "Where'd you get this?"

"You pay me for info inspector. I go tellin' you my secrets and you stop giving me a call. Let's just say I got friends just about everywhere."

Marcus rolled his eyes, deciding not to press the point, and focused on the report. "The _Drake_ was commissioned to survey the outer systems, looking for habitable planets and new resources. It had a seven person crew led by Dr. Michele Raheem. This is all..." he paused, flipping through a few pages, "fairly standard stuff."

He scrolled passed the general mission summary and crew dossiers until he reached the individual mission reports and logs. Or at least where those logs should have been. "There's no record of her flight path. No named systems. Just...dates." He shook his head, "No mission reports, no copies of debriefs. Just...just nothing." He paused once he reached the end of the file and asked, "You manage to find the flight recorder from the ship? That would at least give us an idea where they went."

"That's the weird part. The _Drake_ never checked back in. Word is Ms. Raheem was somehow found floating in space, trapped in a lifepod."

Marcus' attention shifted back to the PCS, "Say that again?"

"Yeah you heard me right! This lady's the luckiest person in the galaxy! Somehow she wandered into a shipping lane and had enough juice in the pod to send out a signal. Some trader ran into her on their way out to one of the outer colonies and scooped her up."

Lucky was an understatement. Most of the older life pods, like the ones that would've been on the _Drake,_ just extended someone's death sentence. More often than not, if you didn't land on a planet, you wind up wandering the infinite black hoping that the pod's miniscule power reserves send out a strong enough signal or you to be heard. If a ship did get the signal then it was a race for them to reach you before the oxygen ran out. Modern escape pods were equipped and programmed to head for the closest shipping lanes, hers getting there on its own was unbelievably lucky. Almost suspiciously so.

"You said she wanted to meet." Marcus continued after mulling the info over, "When and where?"

"She's a bit paranoid. Wants to meet you at Meridian Cafe in two hours."

Meridian sat nestled at the center of all traffic between the upper government districts, and the lower industrial levels. The rumor was that Meridian had, in fact, once been a cafe that one of the Emperor's frequently visited before Terra had been converted to an ecumenopolis. Obviously the rumor was false, since the Emperor _technically_ never left the Imperial Citadel, but despite attempts at squashing said rumor it began to spread anyway. Once word got out that the Emperor frequented the little cafe more and more people started to visit, increasing the shop's profits and forcing it to expand to accommodate the influx of traffic. Fast forward a countless number of years and what had started as a small mom and pop store is practically a sublevel of the city all by itself. They kept the name to make it feel homey.

"Send me the rest of the details on the meeting, plus any info you have left on the _Drake._ "

"Oi mister investigator, you gonna give me a badge since apparently I do a better job than you digging this shit up?" Skag shouted before Marcus hung up.

He dropped the PCS on the table and ran his fingers through his still greasy hair. His eyes wandered over to the window that looked out at the sprawling cityscape outside. It was still early morning and the sunlight generators were inactive, leaving the city shrouded in darkness with the only light coming from the colossal billboards and advertisements. Despite the early hour traffic still buzzed with countless shuttles and skycars zooming through dozens of intersecting traffic lanes.

Obviously something was off about this whole scenario. Mystery science missions, lifepods somehow meandering into shipping lanes to get picked up at the perfect times, and scientists who, apparently, are the sole survivors of said suspicious mission who now appears out of the woodwork promising to shed some light on a riddle with seemingly no other leads. It was possible he'd gotten extremely lucky, but he doubted it. He never got lucky.

"What do you think boy?" He looked down to Silver, who'd parked himself at his feet with his leash dangling between his teeth, "Ready to go for that walk?"

* * *

Marcus opted to use his own skycar to make the journey to Meridian. Public transport, while cheaper when taking into account parking fees, usually frowned on people bringing their pets aboard. Technically it wasn't illegal, but he'd get enough angry looks from the folks Silver would try to socialize with to make him uncomfortable.

Meridian itself was a single gilded star surrounded by the drab grey, brown, and black of the underside of the city. Spotlights and advertisements lit up the sky around the "cafe", drawing the eyes of all those within the same hemisphere as the establishment. Traffic ebbed and flowed around the docking rings surrounding the station, despite the early hours, and it took Marcus almost forty minutes to finally find a place to land. Minutes after landing he and Silver were strolling down the main thoroughfare towards the cafe's core.

Gone were the days since Meridian was a simple cafe. Now it housed dozens of different coffee houses and simple restaurants. Beyond that it also contained: a cinema, a casino, multiple fine dining establishments and retail stores, as well as a pair of skycar dealerships. It had grown so large that, were someone to stand at one edge of Meridian's platform and walk all the way to the other side without stopping it would take a couple hours at least.

Meridian also served as a sort of petri dish, containing representatives of almost every non hostile species in the galaxy. He'd barely made it ten feet out of the docking bay and he'd already seen a trio of scaly, reptilian Sauriens, a group of aquatic Shi'yae, and a towering mechanical behemoth belonging to the Omega Conservators. Either the turmoil the Empire was in didn't bother them or they managed to hide their concern behind their alien expressions.

Curiously most of the denizens on Meridian seemed blissfully unaware of the current state of affairs. In stark contrast to the rest of the city, which Marcus had last seen on fire from riots as he flew overhead, Meridian was shockingly clear of any sign of protest. The people were smiling, laughing, and seemingly celebrating as the planet churned and grinded on around them.

Despite Marcus' general distaste for Meridian, he still found himself lost in the sprawling architecture and flashing billboards. After all humans are simple creatures, and flashing lights with pretty pictures easily distract and capture the attention of even the coldest and unfeeling individuals. He'd been so lost in the spectacle that he'd barely heard Silver's low, angry, growls that seemed to vibrate up the leash and into his arm. He followed the husky's steely glare to a pair of aliens hovering around a nearby merchant stall, both of which were staring him down.

That was when the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. Meridian, despite it's overwhelming popularity, was privately owned. Specifically, it was owned by none other than the Exchange. While the Exchange liked to come off as a standard, conniving and greedy, megacorp it was, in actuality, a conniving and greedy criminal syndicate. Sure it didn't advertise it's misdeeds, and pretended that it's business ventures were legitimate, in actuality it was a sprawling criminal conglomerate that leeched off of everyone else's hard earned credits. Therefore the Exchange didn't care if there was a civil war brewing on the Imperial capital, if there was money to be made it made sure that it's businesses ran on schedule and unmolested. The two toughs currently staring him down were bruisers whom he'd locked up before after busting an Exchange racket, though he couldn't remember their names.

Marcus lightly tugged on Silver's leash and half-waved at the Exchange toughs, "Hey fellas. Pleasure seeing you two again." He turned on his heel and shuffled off before they could bark anything back at him.

It took him another half hour of searching until he found the small diner where the doctor had asked to meet him. It was a quaint place that, when compared to the garish spectacle of the rest of Meridian, was simple and straightforward. There were a handful of tables scattered around the main floor and a single service droid that spun between the tables cleaning and taking orders as it went. Evidently the place wasn't terribly popular as there were only two other patrons aside from him enjoying their breakfast in the far corner of the room.

The droid spun up to Marcus, it's eyes flicking to Silver and then backup, and spoke in a short mechanical staccato, "Good morning sir. Unfortunately animal companions are not allowed on the premises and must wait outside. I can take him if you wish."

Silver let out a low whine and looked up to Marcus, who shrugged and offered the droid the leash, before meeting the dog's eyes, "I'll just be a minute. Play nice." Silver's mouth hung open and he barked once before following the droid outside.

Marcus found a booth near the window and ordered a cup of coffee while he waited. The hot beverage had only just arrived at his table when a woman approached from the doorway. She stood tall and dignified as she approached, though Marcus could see her eyes darted all around the room as if she was ready to run at a moment's notice. She was older, most likely falling somewhere in her late fifties to early sixties, with dark skin that had been weathered due to long days spent in the sun and short cut hair that was starting to turn grey.

She stopped at his table and began to wring her hands, once again adding to Marcus' suspicion that she was nervous about something. She nodded to him, "Are you Mr. Verser?"

"The very same." He confirmed, providing her a simple smile to try and alleviate her stress. "You're Doctor Raheem?"

"Michele," She nodded while offering her hand. He accepted it and blinked in surprise. Her handshake was firmer than he'd expected, almost as if she'd claimed his hand in a vice. He continued to smile, despite the tight grip, and when she let go he rubbed at his palm. "May I sit?"

"Please." He gestured to the seat across from him. Once she'd settled in he ordered another coffee and waited for it to arrive before continuing, "So. My acquaintance said you had information you could give me about the-"

"The Ren-Miru." She interrupted. "Yes."

Marcus withdrew his PCS from his pocket and placed it on the table, setting it to record, "I guess we'll start with the easy question: what are the Ren-Miru?"

"We...we found them. What was left of them I mean…" Her words were distant as she spoke, "On a planet at the galaxy's edge. Some ancient alien species long gone and lost to time." Marcus wanted to speak but she continued, cutting him off, "We wouldn't have found it if not for the signal. It told us something was down there. Alive."

"Did you find anything on the planet? Anything the aliens left behind?"

"The signal told us it wasn't ready. Needed to find others to help it. Others like me." She shook her head, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, "The crew...they weren't like me. The signal couldn't use them."

"What happened to the crew? What happened to the Drake?"

She looked over to him, her eyes refocusing on his, "They were left behind. The signal wasn't ready. Couldn't risk them spreading the word."

This was going nowhere fast. Sure it was cryptic as all hell but none of this information helped. Even worse he was starting to doubt her reliability. She'd spent however long drifting alone in a vacuum and now she was talking about strange signals that told her to leave her crew behind on a mysterious planet with a lost civilization of aliens. Marcus made a mental note to punch Skag for wasting his time next chance he got.

"This planet," he changed gears, "do you know the system? If you looked at a map would you be able to give us the general area?"

She froze, her eyes darting around the room once more, looking to the ceiling and along the walls. Marcus tried to follow her eyes, beginning to feel slightly unsettled. Eventually she paused and once again stared straight across the table at him. He broke the silence first, "Are you ok doctor?"

"You don't hear the signal do you?"

He paused, not knowing how to respond, before shaking his head, "Not that I know of."

Her back straightened, "It's not ready. You can't let them know."

One moment Marcus was sitting there, thoroughly confused, and the next he was dangling two feet off the ground, Raheem's hand around his throat and lifting him in the air. Before he had a chance to struggle she twisted, throwing him across the room and into the serving droid who'd been standing fifteen feet away. Pain shot up his back as he and the droid toppled over one another, it letting out a mechanical cry of surprise as they tumbled to the ground. Marcus quickly sat up, reaching for the snub nosed pistol he kept in his pocket, as Dr. Raheem lunged at him with murder in her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

When death is staring you in the face normally there are a few things that fly through a person's head. Some think of regrets and missed opportunities. Others think of mundane tasks that they'd forgotten, like taking out the trash or letting the dog out. Marcus, while staring down the mad doctor who was lunging at him to end his life, simply said, "Damn."

Suddenly, just before Raheem reached his throat, a familiar blur of black and white collided with her in mid air, sending her sprawling to the floor. Silver rushed ahead, teeth bared, clamping down on her arm as she tried to get up from her clumsy tumble. She howled in pain and twisted to punch the dog, however Silver retreated just in time to avoid the blow.

Marcus seized the opportunity, withdrawing the pistol from it's holster and firing. The shot struck true, catching Raheem in the chest, but it didn't seem to affect her. Marcus couldn't help but gawk in horror as the older woman lunged at him again, with wild eyes and bared teeth. He fired twice more, one round grazing her shoulder and the other hitting her lower abdomen. She slowed long enough for him to scramble to his feet and fire off another trio of shots, two of which missed with the third finding her thigh. It was once he was on his feet that he noticed her blood. It wasn't red like a human's, rather murky white like watered down milk.

There a brief second where time seemed to freeze. Marcus stared at milky white liquid pouring from Raheem's open wound and Raheem, evidently, obliged him a few seconds while he tried to process this new puzzle piece. His biggest concern, at that moment, wasn't necessarily what she was, but rather how he planned on surviving the next few seconds. She'd surprised him with her strength, then with her speed, and now with her non-human blood. The way he figured it his chances of survival were dropping dramatically with each passing second.

She rushed at him again, moving even faster than she had before, easily dodging past Silver's reactionary lunge as she closed the distance between her and Marcus. His instincts begged him to turn and run, lest be disemboweled in the middle of some rinky dink diner, but instead of acting on those tried and tested evolutionary impulse he dove down to the ground, balling up to the fetal position as he did so. She clearly hadn't been expecting the move, and failed to slow down quick enough so she collided with him, toppling over end and crashing onto one of the diner's rickety tables.

Marcus didn't bother to waste more ammo on her instead he scrambled to his feet, whistled for Silver, and made a break for the door in the back that lead to the kitchen. Both he and his canine companion burst through the door just as he heard Raheem let out a guttural screech at a pitch no human could make. It hadn't taken long for the diner's staff to clear out, evidently the gunshots had prompted most everyone to desert the place, most likely because at least one of the Exchange enforcers lining the streets would've heard the shots and nobody wanted to be around when they came knocking. He sprinted to the rear exit and seconds later there was a crash as the kitchen door was blown out of the wall as Raheem closed in on them.

Running wasn't an option, she'd made it quite clear that she'd catch up to them eventually, and he'd deduced a straight up fight would end up with him broken and bent like a pretzel. He'd have to get creative. He spun on his heel and fired from the hip, his goal to slow her down while he searched for something that'd keep him alive. To his dismay Raheem was apparently more clever than he was. She wasn't running up behind him, rather she was crawling like a spider across the ceiling, safely out of the way of Marcus' panicked shots. She dropped down and recovered before Marcus could fire again, grabbing him by the collar, and throwing him to the side. He collided with the wall and tumbled down onto a, luckily cold, stove top.

Silver dashed forward and tore into her leg, ripping and tearing at the muscle and spilling more of the milky white blood on the floor, though if she felt it she didn't let it show. Instead all her attention was apparently dedicated to breaking Marcus into the aforementioned pretzel shape. She closed in on him, grabbing his arm as he tried to push himself up and twisting it in a direction arms were traditionally not supposed to be twisted into. Despite the adrenaline that was coursing through his systems Marcus noted the _pop_ as his right arm was twisted from its socket and another source of pain jetted down the aforementioned limb. She pulled her freehand back and slugged him in the jaw, sending him sprawling back down to the stove top. Finally she wound up again and brought her fist down once more, apparently intending to punch through his skull, luckily he had just enough wiggle room to dodge the fatal blow so her attack just burrowed through the heavy metal down to the wrist. She snarled, grabbing him by his loose clothes, lifting him up and bringing him down over and over on the stove top, the aging appliance beginning to bend and buckle under the force of the blows.

Marcus tried to break free, but his body was starting to capitulate under the assault. Between the unrelenting onslaught of Raheem, the pain, and the seemingly perpetual grogginess from the stim-brain, unconsciousness was threatening to overtake him. One arm could do little but dangle and flail as he was lifted again and again. His fingers of his freehand probed the surrounding area, desperately searching for something, anything, to fight back with. His prayers were answered when his fingers wrapped around the handle of something metal. Praying that his hand had found a well placed meat cleaver, he swung whatever it was with what little might he could muster, and cracked the tall pot against her head. It wasn't much of a strike, but it disoriented her long enough so that he could break free of her iron grip and scramble off the stove and collapse in a pitiful pile on the floor.

Silver seized the momentary advantage, leaping up on her chest, jaws clamping down on her shoulder, spilling more of the milky blood. Raheem shrieked again, grabbing Silver and tossing the husky across the kitchen into a refrigerator. There was a sickening _crunch_ and a short howl of pain as Silver collapsed to the floor, slumped over.

Dismay threatened to slip into Marcus' mind, though he forced it away as Raheem turned back to face him. She was mortifying with skin dangling and falling off around her collarbone, her thigh and her shin. Her clothes were torn and soaked through with the same milky blood. Worst of all were her eyes which burned with an unsettling intensity unlike anything Marcus had seen before. It wasn't hatred or anger that he saw in those eyes, it was pure, malicious, determination. For reasons completely unknown to him he knew she would stop at nothing to end his life.

That was when he realized he was out of options. His gun was on the other side of the room, and even in her state she apparently could still tear him limb from limb. Silver was hurt, and there were no last second pots or pans laying on the ground that he could fling at her in the vain hope to delay the inevitable for a few more second. All he could do was stand up and make a break for the door. Unfortunately, once he realized his legs weren't obeying his commands either, he discovered all he could really do was scramble backwards like an idiot and hope that miracles really did happen to good, or at least ok, people.

As if on divine cue the back door to the kitchen exploded inwards in a shower of bent and blasted metal. Marcus did his best to shield himself from the shrapnel, though with his slow reaction time and broken body, he felt more than a couple shards pierce the thick leather of the coat and stick into his skin. Raheem was less lucky, taking most of the blast in her back which was shredded by the oncoming blast. Marcus' ears rang, and for a moment he realized he might have to tally 'deafness' along with the other disabilities he had chalked up after the skirmish with Raheem. When the dust cleared he felt his jaw drop as, to his dismay, she wasn't down, she just stood there, arm stretched out to brace her against a nearby counter top, as she turned to stare down the trio of heavily armed toughs that had blasted their way into the room.

Silence followed as the trio aimed their weapons at Raheem, who stooped low like a tigress ready to pounce, and Marcus...well Marcus could only really manage to just lay there bleeding. By way of miracles this wasn't the one he had been anticipating. In the end it wasn't gunfire, or another super powered brawl that broke the silence, it was the inspector, waving his now numb arm, and coughing "Hey fellas! Great timing as always." He let out a sigh collapsed.

* * *

 **Two Days Later...**

The world was dark and murky. To Marcus' surprise he didn't feel much pain aside from a dull throbbing in his back and a few pinpricks on his right side. He tried to open his eyes but they wouldn't move. He tried to stand up, or move his arms, but his limbs wouldn't obey his commands. Panic started to seep in as he mentally screamed for his body to respond, but no matter how much he tried it was all in vain.

He didn't know how long he was there, trapped inside a limp body, but eventually he heard the hiss of a door sliding open accompanied by voices as people entered the room.

"Christ Eris you want me to wake him up? There's no way the boss would'a green lighted this."

"I don't need you to question me Cutter, I just want you to wake him." A woman, presumably Eris, snapped back, "That _thing_ talked to him, I want to know what it had to say."

"The bastard's an inspector! If we wake him up he'll ID us. Next thing we know every enforcer in the sector will come down on our 'eads! I 'ad no problem fixin' him but that's where it should've ended. Let's dump him on the street and wash our hands of the whole thing."

Cutter's words were cut off and there were sounds of a struggle accompanied by some grunts of pain. Eris spoke again, this time her words were filled with venom, "I told you to not question me. Do your job, otherwise I'll find someone to fill your place. Do you understand?"

Cutter's reply was a gargled, " _Yesch!_ ', struggling to speak with Eris hand clasped around his throat like a vice.

There was a clatter as Cutter was dropped to the floor. For a second Marcus couldn't make out what was happening as the room had fallen into silence. Soon Cutter spoke up, his words low as if he was whispering to himself, "Sorry 'bout this mate. I may not like you, but this isn't going to feel nice."

Marcus felt a small pinprick in his arm as Cutter, presumably, injected him with something. A moment later all the aches and pains from the brawl came boiling back to the surface. The dull throb in his back morphed into pulsing agony that travelled down the length of his spine. The pinpricks on his right side turned into sharp white hot spikes of pain that had dug into his flesh. A migraine slammed into him like a freight train so severe that for a moment he considered asking his captors to shoot him to alleviate the torture.

He gasped and opened his eyes, then immediately clasped them shut as they took in the bright fluorescent lights of the room around him. It reminded him of a hospital. The walls were painted eggshell white, reminiscent of the bland office spaces belonging to the most thoroughly uninteresting accountants or bankers. The countertops and trays were all made of the same stainless steel, each of which were covered with various nefarious looking surgical instruments.

He lay there for a second, catching his breath after the sudden rush of pain, before asking breathlessly, "Where am I?"

"You're still in Meridian." The woman replied, stepping over so he could see her. She was a Xelian, standing taller than any human, with pallid blue skin and eyes and irises nearly as silver as the countertops. Her face was long and angular with a bony ridge that rose up from the bridge of her nose and crested over the top of her bald head and ran down the back of her neck. Like others of her species she was thin to the point of looking gaunt, her skin hugging the bones in her face and arms, though despite the sickly physique she stood proud, her chin lifted with an air of superiority. "You're safe for now."

"For now?" He croaked his voice was raspy and his throat hurt, most likely an after effect of the sedatives, "That's comforting." He swallowed, wincing at mild stinging pain in his throat. "What happened?"

"You got damned lucky that's what happened mate." Cutter interjected before Eris could respond. Cutter was, for the lack of better words, a slob. He was on the shorter side, barely rising taller than five and a half feet, with a large gut that hung well over his waistline. Both his eyes were gone, having been replaced by two prosthetics that constantly twisted and turned in their slots, rotating lenses back and forth as if he was trying to take in every millimeter of detail on Marcus' face. "If our boys hadn't already been on that scrapper's tail you'd be smushed to a paste."

Eris shot Cutter a glare. She didn't say anything but the sudden shift of expression from mild amusement to veiled fear was hard to miss on the portly man's face. She locked eyes with Marcus again, "What my associate means to say, is that our team had been following the impostor Raheem for some time. Once the fight broke out our team moved in to retrieve it, saving you was a byproduct of the whole ordeal."

"Your team? You're Exchange then?"

She didn't bother to reply, it didn't take much to add two and two together. "So...I guess I'll get the obvious question out of the way. How bad was I?"

"You've been out a couple days. Have to admit you were in quite a state mate. The broken arm was fixable, no major hiccups there. Your lower vertebrae were broken and bruised pretty good. Took a few of the ol' pins and needles to put that damage back together." He pulled up his pants, and the slight grin that slipped his lips suggested that either he was pleased with his work, or wasn't too choked up about a cop getting the shit kicked out of him. "Standard medical implants, same trash the hospital's use to put folk back together. It'll take some getting used to but eventually you won't even notice it. There was a bit of internal damage but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say you were lucky our boys dug you up when they did."

Marcus let his head fall back down to the table. He didn't like having Exchange tech plugged into his spine. He was sure it was all legit, unlike most criminal syndicates they liked to keep up to date. The problem was there was no guarantee they'd stopped there once they finished fixing the damage. There were a million ways they could've bugged him and without knowing what they'd used there was little chance he'd be able to guess it without a long, invasive, scan. He added it to the ever growing list of things he'd have to worry about later.

"I'm assuming this little operation wasn't free?" He asked.

"It isn't." Eris replied, her words a short staccato. "Luckily for us both you can repay that debt here and now." When he turned to her, eyebrow raised quizzically, she continued, "I want to know what business you had with that...impostor...and what it had to say."

Marcus blinked, "Wait, what do you mean impostor?"

Eris' eyes traveled from Marcus to focus on something to his left. He followed her gaze until it rested on the operating table that sat just a few feet away from his. Sprawled out across its metal surface was the remains of Raheem, rather what had been masquerading as Raheem. Most of its skin had been torn and ripped away. The areas where the milky blood had been wiped away revealed a polished black metallic skeleton underneath. The muscles and fibers that were visible weren't made of flesh, rather from artificial chords and fibers all woven and interlinked to give the impression of muscle mass.

Marcus recoiled instinctively, rolling off the table and hitting the floor hard. He scrambled backwards, his legs and arms failing to lift him, so he just pushed himself across the floor with his heels. He stopped after getting a good couple feet away, "The hell is that thing?!"

Both Cutter and Eris looked back over to him, both clearly not as affected by the artificial body as he'd been. The alien was the first to speak, "That thing is what attacked you. It's a machine."

"That's impossible." Marcus shook his head. He reached up to the counter top and used it to pull himself up off the floor. "That _thing_ ," he spat, "talked to me like it was a living breathing person. I talked to it, I looked in its eyes, it was nervous, angry, it _felt_ things. AI can't replicate that, machines can't replicate that. Not like a person can."

The Empire was a place of various technological marvels and wonders. Through studies in xenobiology scientists had managed to clone creatures long thought extinct from various colonized planets. Cybernetics was currently in a renaissance as breakthroughs were constantly being made with new enhancements available practically every day. Robotics, on the other hand, was a touchy subject. True sentient AI was strictly regulated with most synthetics dedicated to servitude either as on board ship computers or laborers. Nothing, at least nothing Marcus knew of, rose to the level of sophistication and technological advancement like fake Raheem did.

"Oh you 'avent seen the best part." Cutter stepped over to the body and rotated the table so that the back of her head was facing Marcus. The portly medic had cut away the top of her head, revealing the brain within. It was a mass of multicolored circuits and wires all crossing and intersecting to create an interconnected matrix unlike anything Marcus had seen. Cutter let that sink in before he reached into the cavity and pushed the wires away, revealing a portion of what looked to be a real human brain underneath. "This goes beyond me, beyond anyone at branch headquarters. This isn't cybernetics, it's a complete reconstruction of a human body around a small portion of the brain, just enough to replicate emotions, some higher functions, and memory. The rest has been stripped out and seamlessly interfaced with mechanics."

"Well what the hell do you want me to tell you about it? I've got a pretty good idea of how much of a punch these things can take. I've also got a pretty good idea of how quickly it could tear through someone. You want any more you go ahead and put it back together so you three can hash it out without me."

"I don't care how it works." Eris interjected, "We can figure that out later. Right now I want to know what it wanted with you to begin with. Why was it with you to begin with?"

"It wasn't with me!" Marcus stammered, his eyes still locked to the black mechanical skeleton, "The damned thing rushed me at a diner. For all I know it went haywire!"

Xelians were deceptively fast, especially when they were irritated, and Eris was no exception. One moment she was standing ten feet away from him, arms crossed and staring daggers in his direction, the next he was dangling a foot of the ground with her long fingers locked around his throat. When she spoke her voice was almost a whisper and radiated more malice than robo-Raheem could ever muster, "You can't lie to me, we saw you met with it and spoke with it before the attack. I want to know exactly what it said and you're going to tell me by your own accord or I'll have one of my men pry it from you. Do you understand?"

Marcus tried to pry her hand away, but he was still to weak. His air supply was dwindling and black spots had started to encroach on his vision. He winced and then nodded, "Fine." She let him go, though she didn't step back instead opting to tower over him while he meekly recovered. He rubbed at his neck as he spoke, "I was tracking a ship. Some science boat called the Drake." He hesitated before continuing, "I've a client whose family member was aboard. They'd assumed that their loved one was dead until they recognized...it." He gestured towards the shredded remains, "I contacted that thing to ask her about it."

The standoff continued for a while longer after Marcus had finished, Eris continuing to glare down at him. She shook her head and turned her back, going towards the door. She was gone for only a few seconds before two more heavily muscled and armored goons stepped into the room followed by the Xelian. She pointed to Marcus, "Lock him up in one of the cells. Cutter I want you to get a hold of headquarters have them send a shuttle with an interrogation team. If he won't tell me what I want we'll take it from him."

The goons rushed Marcus and, despite his instincts begging him to, he didn't bother to resist. He figured he'd wind up with more broken bones if he did. They dragged him from the room, which was a slight relief considering he didn't feel confident in his ability to stand. They dragged him down a handful of different hallways and through even more doors and checkpoints, all of which he didn't bother to remember considering he was bound to forget once he passed out in his cell, and eventually deposited him in a tiny nine by nine room.

He fell on his hands and knees and let out a none too flattering whine of pain once he hit the floor. One of the toughs snorted before leaving, "Enjoy the view while you can. You'll have visitors soon enough and when they get here it won't be pretty for you."

The door hissed shut behind them and let out a mechanical _CLACK_ as the locks fell into place. It didn't take long for him to collect himself, picking himself up off the floor to sit up on the small cot tucked against the far wall. He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at the stubble on his unshaven chin. Despite the mess he was in his mind still wandered. They hadn't mentioned Silver, and he felt decidedly stupid bringing the dog along to begin with. His fingers itched, he wasn't proud to admit that if he didn't get a stim sooner rather than later he'd go into withdrawal.

He shook his head, dismissing the despair and looked towards the window. He paused and blinked once, then twice, then three times. There was something on the horizon that wasn't supposed to be there. He stood up and approached the glass, pressing his palms against it as he squinted to try and clear his blurry vision. They were on the top level of the ecumenopolis, the building facing out in the general direction of the Spire. He could see the tall building rising high above the other buildings around it, though that wasn't what caught his eye. To his left, jutting out of the city planet's metallic crust in a column of fire, smoke, and ash, was smoldering remains of an Imperial heavy battleship.


End file.
